Matching Wits

"Better a witty fool than a foolish wit." - William Shakespeare

Peanut should have a new name. If I were still blogging regularly and chronicling our daily interactions and experiences, I would have renamed her “Tweenut” by now.

You see, our dear Peanut Tweenut recently turned 12. TWELVE! And she is every bit the aloof, dismissive, self-centered know-it-all that we you were at that age.

Don’t get me wrong... I still love her to pieces.

And every now and then, we get to experience the Peanut we know is in there. The Peanut that will one day grow into a mighty oak. (Do peanuts grow into oak trees? I digress.)

Sweet, funny, intelligent Peanut.

This is the story of one of those times.

Tweenut said something so witty, so clever, that it prompted me to wipe away the cobwebs from DKL once again and fire off this blog post. We were in the car, just me and her. I was so proud and impressed that I had to call My Director from the car to tell her what she had said, after I was done laughing.

Luna and Matey now watch over us from
on top of the cabinet in the living room.

It all starts, as many of our stories so often do, with our dogs. Now, I haven’t shared this - or anything, for that matter - with you yet, so we’re gonna do it right now, fast and painful like ripping off a Band-Aid. Here goes: our two beloved dogs, Luna and Matey, have gone to the rainbow bridge. Luna in November. Matey in January. It was a very difficult couple of months. We still love them and miss them so very much and sometimes can’t believe they are gone. They were sewn into the fabric of our family. Still are. Despite their being gone in body, they remain with us in spirit. Always. And here’s an example.

So Tweenut and I were in the car, going from soccer to lunch to lacrosse on a typical busy suburban Saturday. Even though I was following the GPS, I was unfamiliar with exactly where we were and shouted, in Matey’s voice, “Where are we?!” (You don’t give your dogs voices? Shame on you.)

Matey’s voice is best described as laid back and matter-of-fact, like Thomas Haden Church’s character on Wings. But with a lisp. (Because when he lost his eye in a knife fight before we adopted him, it affected his speech. What, your rescue dogs don’t have a dark, made-up back story? Shame on you.)

“Where are we?!” I shouted in Matey’s lispy voice to make Tweenut laugh. Then I proceeded to remind her of a joke My Director and I made the previous weekend about Matey posthumously. (They still amuse us from beyond.)

Since Luna died first, and since she was the one true love of my life (apologies to My Director. She's aware), we asked our priest to come to the house to bless her ashes. It was a sweet little ceremony, if you could even call it that. I cried like a toddler who’s upset at the color of his fork.

Recently, Tweenut asked why we hadn’t come around to getting Matey's ashes blessed. (Typical second child syndrome is why.). This was refreshing thoughtfulness from Tweenut so I reached out to our priest again. But this time I told her she didn’t have to come to the house. She said just bring his ashes to church on Sunday and she’d do it after the service.

The first weekend after that we were away. The second was Tweenut’s Sunday birthday party with our families. The third we were just being lazy and didn’t want to go to church. And that is where our Matey shenanigans begin.

My Director had recorded all of the Jurassic Park movies for us to watch. So instead of going to church, we decided to lay on the couch and binge a little. (“Binge a little” being an oxymoron, of course.)

At one point during our sloth in this season of Lenten sacrifice, my Matey madness kicked in. So in full throated Matey voice I proclaimed, “Guys....” (Matey always starts his proclamations with “Guys...” I hope the PC police don’t take offense that he’s being hetero-normative or whatever. If they do, shame on them. He is a dead one-eyed dog, after all. Give him a break.)

“Guys,” Me-Matey said. “My ashes are sitting here in this cabinet, a shelf below Luna’s, mind you. Unblessed. That’s ridickerous.” (Matey couldn’t pronounce “ridiculous.” Another consequence of the pre-adoption knife fight.)

Matey's right. His ashes are on the bottom shelf.
Luna is perched on the shelf above him.

“And instead of getting me blessed today, you’re watching Jurassic Park?!,” Matey continued. (Jurassic, of course is pronounced “Jurathic” in Matey’s voice. Just so ya know.)

But he wasn’t done. “A movie that’s 25 years old! Daddy was a senior in high school when it was in theaters! Again...ridickerous.”

He was upset. And he had good reason to be. He sits there unblessed and physically and spiritually below Luna in the pecking order even in death. My Director and I had a good laugh at that one. I love that our dogs still bring us such joy even though they’re no longer with us. (And I admit, we’re a little crazy.)

Fast forward to the aforementioned Saturday suburban car ride. After my impromptu, “Where are we?!” in Matey's voice I reminded Tweenut of the Jurassic Park gag with My Director and me and Matey's ashes. Like a true Tweenut, she had gone out with her friends by that point in our Lazy Sunday.

I started doing the gag and she chimed in immediately, adding in Matey’s voice without skipping a beat: “Monstey would be so offended.”

Monstey, you see, was Matey’s favorite toy. It was a dinosaur. He slept with it, played with it, he adored it. He even made sweet love to it one Christmas morning: (You can also hear My Matey voice in this video.) And therein, my friends, lies the genius in Tweenut’s comment. She advanced the story. She used wit and improvisation to do it. She was smart and clever and didn’t miss a beat.

I told her this. I then explained wit to her. “It’s humor with intelligence,” I said.

“Anyone can make a fool of themselves and be a clown,” I told her. “It takes brains to be witty. To be truly funny."

This may be a small thing. You may be reading this and asking me, “This is what you re-emerged from blog hibernation for?”

Yes. Because it’s up to me as a dad to recognize the little things that are actually big things. Because Tweenut is trying out her sense of humor. She’s pushing the envelope sometimes and crossing the line others. We tell her when she crosses the line. When she's decidedly not funny.

And I need to tell her when she gets it right. I need to see the extraordinary in the ordinary. Especially when she’s the one being extraordinary.

I’m not saying I'm going to hand out participation trophies. But as she navigates these awkward and sometimes unforgiving years, I'm the one who needs to realize that she’s still a child, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Even if she doesn’t act like it because she’s not my baby anymore.

Especially with “Tweenut” in full force.

You see, a dad and his Tweenut don’t have a lot in common. At least, not this one. One thing we do have in common, if I may be so bold, is wit.

I am so proud of my witty daughter.

“Monstey would be so offended,” is proof that Tweenut is not going to be the clown. It's easy to be the clown. To get the cheap laugh. But she’s smart. She gets it. Wait for your comedic moment and pounce without compromising your self-worth.

I should stop and celebrate more when the future comes out of my child’s mouth and it’s a bright one. If I don’t, then shame on me.

PS: Our newest member of the family arrived for Christmas. Meet Mocha:

She has brought laughter and joy these past few months and even has her own voice already. 

We just came upon the anniversary of Matey joining our family, which reminded me of THIS POST.

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Dude Looks Like a Matey

"Every day is a production. You wake up to produce that day." -Norman Lear

I never thought I would see the day. Ever. The day when two dogs were living in my house. I would have told you I had a better chance of owning an alligator than owning another dog. After all, I'm not really a dog person to begin with. Then again, I guess I can't say that anymore now, can I? Another dog was never even a consideration. Luna, it's been well documented, is my soul mate. How could I ever do that to her? Then I saw his face...

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: The Dog Ate My Homework

Peanut turns six this week. Can ya believe that nonsense? But before she hits that number, she hit another, less-significant but still mind-boggling one: 100 Days of School.

Apparently this is a big deal now. Such a big deal that a project is required. For Kindergarten. And being the forgetful procrastinators we are, we had to scramble together said project at the last minute on Sunday night:

That's 100 Cheerios made
into the number 100. Fancy.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Puppy Love

There are not many certainties in this world. Not may things we can really bank on. But when the chips are down, and I'm down and out on the couch, sweating out Man Cold, I can count on this:

I had two days of this.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: The Candy Man Can

Hear ye, here ye. I, the King of Candy Land, hereby declare it safe for Trick-or-Treating to commence in all my kingdom. And to ensure safe passage through the Gumdrop Forest and the Peppermint Pass, I have unleashed my trusty Tootsie Roll hound to protect my royal subjects:

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My March-October Bromance

"All summer long, we sang a song and strolled on golden sand. Two sweethearts, and the summer wind." -Frank Sinatra

The days are getting shorter. The air is getting colder. And once again, my days of wearing cargo shorts are over.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Puddle Jumping

Sometimes you have to change the script. Throw a wrench into the routine. That's what Peanut and I did last Tuesday. Tuesday is my day to pick her up from the bus stop. (It's also Peanut Gallery day here on DKL. And what do you know? Here we all are.)  Last week, it was pouring rain at pickup time. Normally, Peanut and I would use our bonus time on Tuesday afternoons practicing tee-ball in the backyard.

Due to the rainout, there would be no tee-ball today. To make up for it, I changed the script. " Why don't we go home and change into our rain boots and rain jackets," I suggested. "And we can go jump in puddles."

And that's just what we did:

Boots

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Subtle Reminders

"Don't worry that children never listen to you; worry that they are always watching you." -Robert Fulghum 

It's truly amazing how almost every time Peanut and I take Luna for a walk in the park, some sort of magic moment happens. I love these walks and this is why. They're my chance to be one-on-one with Peanut, hands-free, and chat with her. She often provides unique insights. Sometimes her opinions surprise me. This time around, she was riding her bicycle. (She's getting really good at it. But we've still got some time before those training wheels are ready to come off.)

We came upon a series of signs, dotted along the edge of the woods just off the path we were walking/riding on:

"That's nice," I called to Peanut as she rode ahead of me and Luna. 

"What, daddy?" 

"The volunteers who take care of the park put up those signs so Luna doesn't go in there and get poison ivy." 

"Luna can't read, daddy." 

"You're absolutely right. Silly me."

Peanut is doing this more often. Correcting us, providing perspective, making observations, or reminding us of things. Sometimes, like the example above, it's funny. Sometimes it's enlightening, like when she hears the first few harmonica chords of Piano Man as we're riding in the car and says, "Daddy, it's your favorite song." Enlightening because she IS listening to me.

Sometimes it's as harsh as a bucket of cold water in your face. For instance, she now serves as our mediator. My Director and I sometimes often bicker like an old married couple. Wait...what? (10 years in December, by the way.) Whenever Peanut is around and we become engaged in one of our discussions, she joins in as an interested but neutral third party. 

"Work it out," she'll shout from another room.

Or

"Guys, it's ok," she'll offer from the backseat of the car.

And My Director and I will look at each other with those "why-are-we-such-bad-parents-but-you-started-it" eyes. Then we will indeed work it out.

She is even aware of change. Like the other day, when she asked, "Daddy, why don't we hear the songs from Megamind in the car anymore?"

"Because mommy listens to a different radio station and she picks you up from school now." (And when I'm driving, it doubles as your musical education.)

Wow. She really notices everything we do. Everything we say. Everything. That's scary. She has a memory too. Even scarier.

It is the gigantic burden of parenthood. You are your child's example. Their moral compass. The old cop-out adage "Do as I say not as I do" does not apply. It should never have applied. She's watching. A little sponge absorbing. Learning. From me. Through me.

On my 37th birthday: We're so alike it's scary.

This is why she'll put her pajama pants on her head to distract us when she's being difficult at bedtime. Because when she's hurt or sad or crying for any other reason than naughtiness, I will put her pajama pants on my head to get her to snap out of it. When she mimics this hilarious, never-gets-old act of mine, My Director will turn to me and say, "See what you've done?"

Yes. I've created a comedic genius is what I've done. That pants-on-the-head gag kills every time.

We share a fondness for
fabulous headware 

When we're all in a happy mood and we're enjoying each other's company, she'll call My Director "the best mommy" and me "the best daddy" because I call her "the best little girl" and Luna "the best puppy."

But she's also helping me with her reminders. Because sometimes in the frantic rush from place to place, you can forget some crucial things. Like when I put her in her car seat, close the door, walk around to the driver's side, get into my seat, start the car, buckle my seat belt, reach to put the car in reverse and she giggles, "Daddy, you forgot to buckle me."

She thought I was being silly. I wasn't. I was being forgetful. She helps me remember.

Then there's the time we were playing tee ball in the backyard and My Director jokingly hit my butt with the bat. And now, just like the pants-on-the-head gag, it's become a thing to hit daddy's butt with the Whiffle-ball bat. Every time we switch sides from batting to fielding, I hand her the bat, and she smacks me with it. (But unlike the pants-on-the-head gag, this one gets old.)

And when I gave up chocolate for Lent  and she was making pretend-coffee in her play kitchen and she came in and said, "Daddy, it's ok. You can drink it because it doesn't have chocolate."

Not only is she always listening, she's always looking out for me too. She sees my love, feels my love, and loves me right back.

One of the things she teaches me, and reminds me of, is forgiveness. And wouldn't you know, Luna was involved there, too. I wrote about that here.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: The Great Outdoors

On paper, or blog site, it sounds like a good idea. Make a lasting memory and have a little summer fun at a relatively low cost. I'm talking about going camping... in the backyard. Not this:

This looks horrible

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Our New Addition

"They want you to cook the dinner; at least they ought to let you shop for some of the groceries. " -Bill Parcells

That quote is from one of the best football coaches in my lifetime, explaining why he also wanted to be general manager of the team and pick the players he was coaching. "Shop for some of the groceries," if you will. That is why I do the food shopping in our house. I cook the meals, so it makes sense that I shop for the groceries.

I have it down to a science. I go alone. I am usually in and out in 45 minutes. (Remember: I don't lollygag. Ever.) I also do my own bagging and unloading. (The kitchen is my domain. And I'm a control freak.) I keep a running list of items we need on a pad of paper hanging on the refrigerator.

The quality of my penmanship is inversely
proportional to the urgency with which I am writing.

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The Dog That Changed the World

"Happiness is a warm puppy." -Charles Schulz, and something I routinely say to Luna.

Before Peanut made me a father, Luna made me a dad. I know how ridiculous that sounds, especially  to non-pet people. It's even more ridiculous when you consider it's coming from me. Let me be clear: I am NOT a dog person. I do not like your dog. I do not think your dog is cute. I don't want to pet your dog. I definitely don't want your dog licking me. Gross. There are some exceptions but for the most part, gross.

I feel like this picture looks like
someone caught us having an affair

I am, however, an unapologetic Luna person. It borders on manic. She is E.T. to my Elliot. My furry little friend who is my only company at the buttcrack of morning and the quiet of night. I sing her songs. In fact, our morning routine consists of her standing at the kitchen doorway waiting to be fed as I include her name in whatever song happens to be in my head that day. (Recent hits include "Call Me Luna," "If You Get Caught Between The Loo and New York City," and "Just a Spoonful of Luna Helps the Medicine Go Down.")

I am however, not alone in my adoration for Luna and my placement of her upon her puppy pedestal. During Luna's most recent check-up, I explained to the veterinarian how I was never a dog person. How I'm still not a dog person. How I am only a Luna person. I told her how My Director kept hinting and asking and pleading for years. For seven years. (A dog year.) She wanted a dog. She is a dog person. I kept refusing. Absolutely not. I'm allergic. Dogs are messy. And I just don't like them.

Then she sent me an online picture of Luna, who was called "Muffin" at the time. (She is SO not a Muffin.) My icy dog-hating heart melted. A bond was formed:

Our relationship borders on inappropriate at times

Luna gets inappropriate at times

I proceeded to tell the vet how even my in-laws, perpetually dog people but big dog people, had their minds changed by this stubborn little lovable furry princess:

Shielding herself from the heat

Seriously with this pose?

Her response? "Luna changed the world."

I never thought of it that way. But yes, she did. I would never have imaged I could love a dog so much. Let alone, this ridiculous 12-pound stinkface whose curly tail always tells the tale, who keeps me up nights if there's a thunderstorm, who will whimper at me to play with her the minute I sit down after a long day. Then who will without fail take my place on the couch after I've laid down on the floor to engage her. Ridiculous.

One night this week I asked Peanut who taught her to be funny. "You, daddy," she said. "And Luna." I love that statement. But more for the fact that she mentioned Luna. Luna, the dog with the perpetually shmoopy tail; the dog with the stinky grille and snarfy puss. The dog whose voice sounds like Cheech Marin even though she's a female Asian breed and I'm Italian-American.

Happy 7th birthday the dog who changed the world:

I can forgive Luna when she misbehaves easier than I can forgive Peanut when she does. Click here to find out why.

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Love Bites

"There is no love without forgiveness, and there is no forgiveness without love." -Brian H. McGill

It's amazing how much happens while I'm in the bathroom. Without fail, the scene I leave will be dramatically different from the one I return to every time. And last night was no exception.

My Director and her mom (the Associate Director, if you will) were getting the bedtime routine started. We had just come back from dinner, so Luna was all geeked up to see us. Since I failed to properly carry along a Lactaid for a dinner out, I had to make a beeline for the toilet.

Friends again (forever). 24 hours after "the incident."

A few minutes later, as I climbed the stairs I heard My Director scolding someone. But it wasn't Peanut. It was Luna. Now I'm wondering, "What did she do?"  Take a toy that wasn't hers? Have an accident? No. Worse. She bit Peanut.

Normally when I say "Luna bit Peanut," I mean a harmless nip where we scold the dog and quickly move on. Usually it's because Peanut has provoked her. Luna would never break skin. Isn't capable of it. Well, never say never because one glance at Peanut's face and I saw a little scar on her nose and another one on her mouth.

I asked if Peanut had once again provoked her by yelling in Luna's face or being too rough with her. "No, daddy. I was giving her love." My Director confirmed this. But she did say Peanut inadvertently touched Luna's behind, where she has always been overly sensitive. (She's also a big prude.)

Still, I was livid. Luna knew she was in trouble from the moment it happened. Even though My Director had already done it, I scolded Luna myself. Because I'm her person. Her master. And she gets really upset when I'm not happy with her. The nervously wagging tail. The sad eyes. The attempts to kiss or snuggle with me. It's hard to resist but last night I did.

About ten  minutes later, we were reading a book on our bed. The five of us: Me, My Director, Peanut, my mother in-law, and Luna. I was still giving Luna the cold shoulder. So My Director, always the voice of reason, said, "You have to forgive her. She can't handle it anymore."

"No. I don't want to forgive her. What if it were someone else's dog who did that? We'd be furious."

"But it wasn't. She's our dog and you love her."

I still wasn't convinced. That's when Peanut chimed in. "You have to forgive her, daddy. I did and I'm the one she bit." (Is this really an almost five year-old talking?)

"I'm mad at her. And it's my job to protect you."

"It's your job to protect Luna too."

I couldn't argue anymore. Once again, my daughter had taught me a lesson, and just a few days after teaching me about thinking the best of people. And it was while I was trying to teach her one. About consequences.

The magic moments come when you least expect them. You're rarely holding a camera. They're unscripted, which is what makes them so magical.

Forgiveness. Perspective. From my daughter. Thank you, Peanut.

This was a rare instance where I didn't easily forgive Luna. I even find it easier to forgive her than I do Peanut sometimes. I explain why here. 

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Howling at the Luna

And now for something completely different and ridiculous...

Here's what a young(ish) couple whose plans fell through at the last minute do for entertainment on New Year's Eve while their four year-old sleeps upstairs. (It's not as kinky as you might think.)

After the ball dropped we quickly discovered that Luna would freak out every time we said, "Happy New Year." So we waited until she calmed down, and fired her up again for the camera. Enjoy:



Yes, I sound very happy and lovey. I had consumed six glasses of wine at that point. But I've seen this video every day of the year - without alcohol - and it still makes me laugh out loud. Hope it made you laugh too.

If you love you some Luna ridiculousness, you'll enjoy this post too.

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I'm Top Chef

"We should look for someone to eat and drink with before looking for something to eat and drink." -Epicurious

I had found what I thought was a delicious mustard vinaigrette recipe on my Epicurious iPad app. How many husbands have said that before? How many husbands even have an Epicurious iPad app? Not many.

"You know, not many husbands do what I do," I told my wife. Very few, actually. She forced me to say it.  She had shot me a look of doubt when I described how I had dressed the cucumbers we were about to eat. I was insulted. I had every right to be. Don't doubt my cooking, lady. You should know by now. I even had the Peanut taste test my marinade before I poured it over the cucumbers. She loved it... wanted more. (Of course my recent dealings with cucumbers are now legendary.)

My wife took a bite, and her haughty doubt disappeared, replaced by humble satisfaction. "Never doubt me again," I told her her. "Especially when it comes to cooking." Like I said, not many husbands do what I do. Even fewer do it so well. That night I had made homemade fish sticks out of tilapia filets. I baked them so they weren't greasy. The cucumbers were our vegetable. I am a wizard in the kitchen. What can I say? It's in my blood.

My mother taught me well. But even she is impressed with what I manage to do every day. Yeah... every day.

I live the show "Top Chef." In every episode, the contestants are given a short amount of time to execute a delicious, successful meal. That is no different from my cooking dinner for my family every night. Both the contestants and I are given obstacles. But theirs are made up. Sometimes they have to cook with one hand, or a two-chef team has to cook while tied together under one apron. My obstacles are real. Flesh and blood. They are demanding and relentless. They are my daughter and my dog.

I watch the show and I can tell you those seasoned professionals on "Top Chef" aren't giving hugs and kisses or wiping a$$es while they're cooking. (I wash my hands A LOT.) They're not getting snacks, or cleaning up the rare accidents the dog has left. At least I know what's coming...

When Peanut and I walk through the door at 6pm after daycare pickup, I have 45 minutes to get dinner on the table. (My wife comes home around 6:45.)

My arms are packed with my daughter's lunchbox, her artwork, paperwork from the daycare office, her cup, her Lammie, some extraneous clothing she shed in the car, whatever toys she's brought along for the ride, sometimes dry cleaning or groceries, and my bag is draped over my shoulder. I plop all of this paraphernalia on the counter, and my quickfire challenge begins.

Almost on cue, the Peanut starts with her list of demands. "Daddy can I... Daddy may I... Daddy I want..." A snack. An apple sliced and peeled. Her playroom opened. A show to watch. To go potty. Her coat hung up. And while she does that Luna is nipping at our ankles, hungry for love and attention. After I dedicate a good few minutes to the dog, I let her out in the yard to get her out of my way.

Before any of this takes place, I've already started the oven, and/or fired two burners with pots on them and olive oil in them. So things are getting hot...  although not yet cooking.

Mostly everything I cook is fresh, especially vegetables. My daughter will no longer eat frozen ones. And the likes of Papa John, Chef Boyardee and Mama Celeste are not welcome in my house, in my kitchen, or at my dinner table. No respectable American of Italian heritage would allow that.

And over the past year, I have learned to embrace the crock pot... a device I had previously described as "lazy cooking." As it turns out, convenient can also be healthy and delicious if you want it to be. I also cook two meals most Sundays, to give myself a head start on the week. And I grill as much as I can, until the yard is covered in snow.

Recent menu items include: turkey meatloaf with sauteed broccoli rabe and homemade mashed potatoes. Grilled marinated tuna steaks with steamed broccoli and garlic rice. Pan roasted chicken thighs with kalamata olives, capers, and lemon served over couscous with a side salad.

Some of my most vivid childhood memories are from the six of us - my parents, my two sisters, my brother, and myself - sitting around the table, holding hands, saying grace, and sharing a home-cooked meal. It wasn't easy for my mom to do it every day. It's not easy for me either. I admit, I am dangerous with a big knife. And I don't peel potatoes. But my nightly qucikfire challenge is so worth it... for our hearts, our souls, and our bellies.

My mom is very proud. And my family is very well fed.

I mentioned sometimes coming home to accidents from the dog... there's a reason why it's so hard for me to get mad at her when she does that.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Inked

I came very close to getting a tattoo once. It was Spring Break '97. Panama City, Florida. My inebriation was high and my inhibitions were low. With what image was I considering branding myself? A lion carrying an Italian flag. So ridiculous on so many levels. (The lion is my fraternity's mascot and my zodiac sign.) Had I done it, I would regret having that tattoo now.

Why am I recalling this cautionary tale from my youth? This week, Mattel unveiled a limited edition Barbie doll complete with permanent tattoos. Parents, myself included, were in an uproar:

The inked-up "Tokidoki" Barbie

But why the uproar? This is obviously a publicity stunt for a collector's item. And parents who don't like it don't have to buy it. I calmed down about the tatted doll, named Tokidoki Barbie. What bugs me more is her pugnacious little pet dog named "Bastardino." Yes, Bastardino. Nice:

This dog's a little pr!ck

Even though I've come clean, so to speak, when it comes to tattoos, I recognize they are a big draw for kids the Peanut's age. Due to my own close call I wouldn't want the Peanut getting a permanent one anytime soon. Then again, she may very well have one right now:

The Girl with the Dinosaur Tattoo

She's had this dinosaur tattoo on her forearm since a birthday party last month. A freakin' month. Not even a Brillo pad and turpentine would wash it off. Is it ever going to go away? Rest assured, we bathe her regularly. Still, it clings to her skin. Then just last week at another birthday party, she thankfully decided against getting her face painted. (It's creepy and also a pain in the a$$ to wash off.) Instead, she got her other arm inked:

Even holding Lammie, she looked bada$$

That one came off in the bath that night. But Luna refused to be outdone. Our own little Bastardino got into the spirit at the groomer this weekend with some Halloween ink of her own:

The Dog with the Pumpkin Tattoo

Luna's ink probably doesn't give her quite the street cred that Tokidoki's does, or the Peanut's does for that matter. Regardless, everyone's tattoos will be gone soon. And so will Tokidoki Barbie.

If you're into tattooed Barbie, you may also like naked Ken. It's by far my most-read post ever.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Scary Crazy

We have a problem. A serious problem. A Halloween problem. In our house, we treat Halloween almost as seriously as we treat Christmas. No, you're not reading this wrong. Your calendar is correct. It's still September... and I'm talking about Halloween already. It's because we have a problem.

How into Halloween are we? We host the annual party. It used to be a drunken kegger complete with vodka gummy worms and costume contests that lasted well into the early morning. Now, it's a kidsapalooza complete with backyard games and a pinata that ends in time for dinner.

This weekend, my wife asked me to bring all of the Halloween boxes down from the attic so she could "take inventory." Yes, inventory. I stacked them in the corner of our bedroom:

You can't see 'em all but there are nine crates total

This year, we decided to be ahead of the game. Planning early because all of our October weekends are filled with other commitments. We already made the trek to Target. Speaking of being ahead of the game, I even bought two sets of Christmas lights while we were there. I can't help myself. Like I said, we have a problem.

That's not nearly as bad as my wife, who bought a bounce house. Yeah... a freakin' bounce house. Called it an "investment:"

We Bought a House

And we complain we have no money. There's not enough therapy to deal with this problem.

Peanut's into it too... rummaging into the crates to find her Halloween toys, including the vampire Mr. Potato Head. But she didn't want him in her room at night because he's "scary:"

Still smiling for a guy sleeping in the hallway

Luna's excited to have her Halloween toys back too:

My what big fangs you have.

I wonder if the Peanut will be as into Halloween as we are when she grows up. Something tells me she will:

Reminder: it's still September.

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Anger Management

"Life is too short to hold a grudge, also too long." -Robert Brault

I can't stay mad at the dog. I just can't. My daughter, however, is a different story.

But why? Why do I come home to a steaming turd sitting on the floor, courtesy of Luna, yet feel guilty scolding her?

If my daughter committed an equally naughty offense, I still wouldn't be over it hours later. Days even.

Let me paint a poop-colored picture for you: Peanut and I came home from a day of work and daycare (I do pickup.) Peanut goes in first while I empty the car. I follow. We greet Luna and give her the love and affection she's been craving for ten hours.

But on this particular day something I spotted out of the corner of my eye interrupted our reunion...

A dogsh!t surprise at the edge of the area rug, right by the fireplace. (I will spare you a picture.) As soon as I saw it, I shouted, "LUNA, NO." And she knew.

Immediately, her mood changed. Her ears and tail dropped. She slinked away. Then as I said, "BAD GIRL," she started nervously wagging her tail. She knew she was in trouble. She knew she had done something wrong.

There was probably a thunderstorm or something that spooked her during the day. This happens a few times a year. Doesn't make it any less annoying to come home to.

Look at that punum.
How can I stay mad at her?

I grabbed Luna, in case she had forgotten about the pile of crap she had left for me. (I had no idea how long ago she did it. And I wasn't about to call in the CSI folks.) I made sure she saw what I was upset about. (Even though I hate doing that.) I told her "NO. BAD DOG," again.

Then I carried her to the bathroom and shut her in there in time out while I cleaned it. You could tell she was sorry because she didn't whine the whole time she was in there.

And that's why I feel bad punishing Luna. Remorse. She is so sorry. She loves us so much, unconditionally. And when she does something she thinks jeopardizes that love (it doesn't), she feels awful. All she wants is forgiveness.

The Peanut, on the other hand, could care less about seeking forgiveness or feeling remorse. She recently threw a hissy fit over the fact that I had cut in half the piece of chocolate chip banana bread I was giving her AS A TREAT for her first day of pre-K. Oh, the horror.

The offending slice

She completely lost her mind. Screaming, "That's not how I want it." And "That's not how mommy does it." (Nice to make me feel inadequate... again.) Over a piece of CHOCOLATE CHIP banana bread for a pre-dinner snack. Usually, I can get her to calm down. But this being the first day back to school, she was extra tired. Thus, my normally tranquil Peanut had morphed into Little Miss Spazzypants.

I told her she couldn't have the banana bread until she stopped crying and apologized. She wasn't stopping.  I walked away to cook dinner. When I heard her finally calm down, I went over to explain to her what had gone wrong. I was even going to offer her the banana bread again, unsliced, despite the meltdown. IF she apologized. You know what she did instead? Kicked me. (I sense a disturbance in the force.)

As I write this, I'm getting angry all over again and it happened almost two weeks ago.

You know why? No remorse. In her eyes, I was wrong. I had made her upset by cutting the banana bread in half. How dare I? Then I was at fault again by taking it away. The nerve.

That's why I hold grudges against the Peanut. Even long after the tantrum. Even long after she's moved on and is in a good mood again. Even then, I'm looking at her through squinted eyes and with furrowed brow. I'm still hanging on to that anger and frustration.

The sorry she eventually offered wasn't really a sorry. No remorse. She could learn a thing or two from her canine older sister.

My wife often jokes she'd rather get a second puppy than have a second child. One of these days, I just may take her seriously.

Then again, Luna would be devastated. And I really couldn't bear upsetting her.

Can you guess where the Peanut gets her inability to apologize? That's right.

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Courage Under Fire

"The miracle isn't that I finished. The miracle is that I had the courage to start." -John Bingham

When you least expect it, your child will teach you a lesson. Without even trying. Such was the case as the peanut and I went for a late evening walk with Luna one night this week.

Since my wife worked a little later than usual, we ate dinner a little later than usual. Right before we were finished she asked, "Daddy, are you taking Luna for a walk?" After I answered her yes, after dinner, she asked, "May I please come with you?" She had been such a good girl at dinner. And I can't say no when she asks so perfectly. Despite the late hour.

We finished our meal and I took the dishes into the kitchen to be done after we put the peanut to bed. I told her I was ready to go. "But, daddy, I need to draw a map first."

Cue the roll of the eyes, slumping of the shoulders, and bubbling up of annoyance. I only did this knowing she couldn't see me.

"Ok, sweetie. But it's already bedtime and it's getting dark. So we have to hurry." Within two minutes we were out the door, each of us with our map. Of course, I was thinking to myself that maybe I could turn the whole drawing a map thing into a blogable moment.

And as I was formulating that post in my head, halfway down our block, she tripped on the sidewalk. It happened out of nowhere. There wasn't even something to trip over.

Ouch (yes, I took pictures).

She landed on both knees and hands. A bad fall. She immediately started crying. And I could tell by the severity that this was no normal cry, this was no normal fall. I lifted her up and saw the nastiest of nasty scrapes on her knee. My poor baby.

She was so excited to be rewarded with this walk and all I could do was be annoyed. And now she's in my arms, bleeding and crying. You can imagine how poorly I felt.

I carried her home, while seeing at least three of our neighbors out of the corner of my eye looking on with concern on their faces. Luna, meanwhile, is utterly confused at this point. Having dropped her leash, she's still walking towards the park. I call her to join us, pick up the leash again, and proceed to drag her back home while carrying my broken peanut.

Required Two Dora Band-Aids

We get back to the house and I call for my wife to come tend to the peanut. I leave Luna, still wearing her leash, on the front lawn. My wife takes over. I look out the front door to find Luna laying on the front lawn, waiting and wondering.

We tend to the peanut. I don't want to leave but my wife says, "I'll take care of you while daddy walks Luna." And this is where she dropped the lesson without even trying.

"No," she said through her sobs and tears. "I still want to go with them."

Map in hand, ready to go again

Amazing. Simply amazing. We were floored. It's not that she was being unreasonable. She was telling us she was going to be ok enough to go for the walk. 

Luna, ever patient, is still laying out there waiting. We grab our maps and her leash and head off for our walk again. This time, holding hands. This time, I'm paying closer attention.

After Luna did her business and we we headed home, the peanut said she didn't want to walk anymore. "I'm tired, daddy."

Usually, I would give her my "this is a walk" line, and we don't carry you on a walk. But this time I gave in. This one time. I picked up my wounded little warrior and carried her home. Her reward for teaching me about courage, innocence, excitement, and perseverance all at once.

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THE PEANUT GALLERY: Haircut Edition

The peanut got her hair cut today. You can count on one hand the number of times she's had her hair cut in her lifetime. Her hair has become a signature part of her appearance and her personality. When she starts complaining about "getting like Rapunzel," we know it's time.

Those flowing locks (and Luna)

This is the first appointment on which I accompanied her since her first time. I was surprised enough at how much hair was on the floor underneath her, that I took a picture. Such a small head with so much hair:

I was a lot more composed this time. When she got her hair cut for the first time, I almost had a breakdown right there in the salon. Click here to read about it.

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The Dog Days of Summer

"If you saw a heat wave, would you wave back?" -Stephen Wright

It's too hot to do anything outside.  Yesterday, in fact, I turned on the grill and I feared I would spontaneously combust as it fired up. But we don't have it nearly as bad as our four-legged friends. Let's be honest. How much more unbearable would this weather be if we were covered in fur?

Luna is not having it. Wants nothing to do with the heat.

Every time I open the playroom door that leads to our back patio, I hear the sudden jingle-jangling from wherever she is in the house like I always do. So I wait for her. She stops at the doorway. I'm standing there holding the door for her with one hand and a dish full of marinated chicken and a grill spatula in the other.

She waits. She looks outside, then looks up to me as if to say, "I'm not going out there. Are you crazy?" (Remember, we gave Luna a voice like Cheech Marin. It's much funnier if you read her that way.)

I try to encourage her to go outside, "Cmon, Loo... Let's go.... It's ok."

Yes, the look on her face has registered such concern that I have to assure her that she will be alright once she goes outside. The yard is pretty well shaded. So there's plenty of room for her to roam, pee, and go back inside relatively unscathed.

Still... she stares.

So I go out there without her. A minute later, after putting my chicken on the grill, she hears me open the door to come inside. And I hear the same jingle-jangling. This time, she stops at the doorway to the playroom. She looks at me as if to ask, (cue the Cheech) "How is it out there? As bad as I thought?"

And now I'm actually having a conversation with her.

"You know, if you want to go outside, just go."

(Cheech) "But I don't want to."

"It's fine. Just for a couple of minutes to pee. It's not that big of a deal." (My voice, if you're wondering, is deep and nasal-y, like the Lollipop Guild on steroids.)

She inches closer. I have no patience to hold the door any longer while she decides. So I close it and move on.

Later, Luna joins me as I go next door. We're watering our neighbor's flower garden while they're away. I used the front door; so Luna didn't hesitate to follow me. She treats the front door a lot differently than the back door (unintentional sexual innuendo). She equates the front door with going for a walk.

She also loves sniffing around our next door neighbor's house. They don't mind because they love animals, and have one of their own. Recently we pet-sat for them, which I wrote about here.

I couldn't resist squirting her with the sprayer a half a dozen times as she was inspecting their yard. I thought I was helping her cool off. But every time I did it, without fail, she got mad at me. Tail-down, run-away, find-a-place-to-hide mad.

When I was done, I asked her if she wanted to go for a walk. She was excited. I had lifted her spirits. I was excited too. She hadn't pooped in two days because of her refusal to walk in the heat.

This Dog's Done

We entered the park, made our turn onto our chosen path and at last, after nearly 48 hours, Luna proceeded to...lay down. Right there on the path. She was a hot black panting mess.

She looked up at me and said, (Cheech) "I can't go on any longer. You go ahead without me. I'll be just fine right here."

I let her cool down for a minute, then we turned tail and headed home. Still no poop.

So add heat to the list of weather conditions in which my dog will not poop. Snow, rain, dark (yes, dark) and now heat. She's like the opposite of the post office. She doesn't deliver unless the conditions are perfect.

If you haven't read about my walks with Luna AND the peanut, it's worth clicking here.

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